DOWRY (1978?)

How long it took for you to let your face

Be handled by me, a plain portrait,

"It's not a good picture," you said, "it's a trace,

Although; and it might satisfy your wait.”

Yes, it's small, 'tis very little, almost nothing,

But you care not that in alien hands

It might lay and bring a fit of cussing

That I shall hear alone, so it 'fends

My own tranquillity and peace of mind.

"Looks go away," you said, "I'm not pretty."

Nor pretty am I, but how precious a heart

That beats in your breast and will mine grind

With faithfulness galore, a love gritty,

To compensate for all my pains and smart!...